Made to be Broken
by redwhistle
Summary: The sun rises and sets.  Post-movie 7x9.


Note: This is a shameless exercise in angst. Also in non-linear storytelling. If those last two sentences don't have you slamming the back button, then I hope you enjoy this little experiment of mine.

Special Thanks: To my marvelous beta reader. She also did some lovely illustrations for this fic, which you can see if you read the version posted on the 9 Forum.

Rating: T for mentions of soulbonding.

* * *

><p>Made to be Broken<p>

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one and a half_

The soil here under the trees is soft. Not like the hard, rocky earth further up, at the base of the mountain. It should be easy to dig into, easy to lift.

But it isn't.

**·**

**·**

_Fifteen_

Seven is being chased.

She runs, tall blades of green grass brushing her on all sides. It is not her swiftest run, but her breathing is quick and deep. Behind her, the pursuer is beginning to catch up.

"Not bad," she calls over her shoulder.

Breathless laughter sounds out behind her. Not bad at all. Is he getting faster? Or is she giving in sooner? Either way, she isn't complaining.

When he does catch her, she cannot contain her own laughter as they fall, tumbling, to the grassy earth. She ends up on her back, looking up at him outlined against the sun's glare, unable to make out his features until he leans in close. He touches his forehead to hers.

"Looks like you've got me," she says.

She hears the rush of his panting breath as he presses closer. Feels his arm slide beneath her waist. Does he ever.

The things he whispers to her then are for her alone. The things they do – the way he brushes his smiling mouth against her, the way she yields to his broad, caressing hands – are for them alone. Hidden in the green shroud of swaying grass, it sometimes seems as if they are the only two in the world. They very nearly are.

She should mind far more than she does.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one_

In a stand of trees, near the crest of the foothill, they pick their way along. The twins scurry every which way, grabbing up the small, dry twigs that litter the ground and piling them into the cart. Seven helps them with the larger ones.

After a while, she looks around. Where is Nine? "The cart's almost full," she calls out. She has to call out twice more before she gets an answer.

"I'm here," he calls back. His voice, carried on the wind, comes from higher up, past the trees, near the very top, where begins the base of the mountain. Even as far off as it is, she can hear the distracted tone that means he's found something interesting. The twins dart off after him, knowing that tone as well as she does. Seven sighs and looks up, through the budding treetops, at the overcast sky. The grey cliff looms over her. They should start heading back.

She is just making a start out after them when she hears it. Rumbling. Crashing. Shouting. Her brisk trot becomes a run, full-tilt. The ground trembles beneath her feet. When she breaks free of the stand of trees, it takes a moment to register the sight that greets her.

Nine, face down on the ground, arms outstretched. In front of him, the twins, who lie one on top of the other. Surrounding them are chunks of ragged stone, in all sizes, that hadn't been there before.

For a moment, she can only stare in horror. Then she sees them stir.

She goes to the twins, first. Helps them up, touches their faces. Embraces them. They nod at her, assuring her they're all right. Then, she goes to him.

He has already gotten to his feet, and is brushing grit from his chest and legs, not looking at her. Of course he expects her to be angry. She is. But that doesn't stop her from crushing him to her as tightly as she can. Over his shoulder, she sees just how near a miss it was: the scuffing of the dirt where his body had lain is mere inches from the largest group that had fallen. And she sees something else. She sees the things he had been looking at, the things that had him so distracted.

She takes his hand and pulls him, leads all of them back down the slope, through the stand of trees, and toward the base of the hill, to home. The cart is left behind. So are the eggshells.

**·**

**·**

_Twelve_

Nine has thought up a marvelous game. Earlier, they had come across a white, dimpled sphere embedded halfway in the dirt, and, prying it loose with her staff, Seven found it to be a ball, almost knee-high and very familiar-looking. Nine's face upon seeing it was indescribable.

Now, in a rush, he explains the game to them. His excitement is infectious, and when they agree to play, he runs off with the twins to find sticks and cloth while she clears a patch of grass with her blade.

Together, they set up the goals, as he calls them, on either side of the patch she has cleared. The rules: get the ball into the opposite goal, without touching it with your hands or arms. The twins stand guard – Three at Nine's goal, Four at hers – and she laughs at the wicked smirks on their faces, very like what she herself might have once worn in battle.

And a battle it is. Soon she and Nine are locked in combat, chasing the ball and each other across the close-cut grass, the twins defending each side as if their very lives hang in the balance. Shot after shot after shot is blocked, and while at first Seven is pleased and impressed at their newly-discovered talent, it isn't long before impatience gets the best of her. When the ball flies back toward her, she catches it up in both hands, twists, and launches it right past Three's shoulder into the goal. Both twins are indignant. They shake their fingers, admonishing her, as she crows in triumph.

Nine stalks over to her, folding his arms across his chest, indignant as well. Or so he would like her to believe. His attempt at looking angry would be far more convincing if his shoulders weren't shaking like that. "You can't do that," he says, with an odd little choking sound. "It's against the rules."

Maybe so, but – "Rules are made to be broken."

She has him there, and he knows it. His mouth quirks, and he brings a hand up to hide it. "Fine. But I get a penalty."

From the look in his eyes, she thinks for a moment that it will be something shocking, or perhaps delightfully embarrassing – but it turns out to only be a free kick to Four's goal. Undaunted, she returns to the center of the field and faces him again across the ball.

They play until it is nearing sunset. Golden light flashes through the tall blades of grass as they make their way back to the ruined building where they've spent the recent nights. The others are tired, dragging their feet a little. She is not. But she does not run ahead.

"We'll get you next time," Nine says, putting an arm around her.

"Keep telling yourself that," she replies, patting him on the back. This time, he does laugh.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one and a half_

The morning begins like many others, bright and clear in the autumn foothills. When he says he is going out, she doesn't think much of it. She is up on the high ramparts in what she now knows to be the house's kitchen, looking through the blades there, trying to find a suitable replacement. The one she has carried on the end of her staff, for more years than she can count, has finally cracked beyond repair.

To her delight, she soon finds the one she has been looking for, the one she remembered seeing when they had first explored up here. She pulls it from the wooden block. Nearly the exact same size and shape. It's in excellent condition, still sharp, its dark patina untouched by rust. She spends a good part of the day in the workshop, carefully stripping off the wooden handle, prying off the rivet that holds it to the tang. When she is finished, the smooth piece of forged metal is lovely to behold.

Still, she can't help but feel a twinge of sadness as she removes the broken blade from her staff. She puts it aside, hoping there might still be some other use for it. A while later, she has the new blade fixed in place, tied and bolted as the old one had been. She swings the weapon, slicing it through the air. Throws it at the wall, and grins as it sinks into the paneled wood. Pulling it loose, she examines it. Not a bit worse for wear.

Pleased, she picks up the old blade in her other hand. Nine might be able to think of something. She heads off to find him. Even if he can't salvage the old one, he is still sure to appreciate her work.

**·**

**·**

_Eight_

Through the shroud of green blades, she can just make out the movements of the twins. See the flashing of the lights from their eyes that tell her they're taking in every last detail.

Seven isn't as indifferent to the flowers as she might seem. She likes them very much. But there are other things she likes, and at the moment those things have most of her attention. Not the grass, which is green – so green – nor the sky above, which is a cloudless blue. Nor the faint sparkle of water from a short way down the slope.

No, she finds herself far more concerned with his hand stroking, stroking along her side. With the shift of his shoulder under her head. With the rise and fall of his chest.

Was it wrong to wish the twins would find something else to look at? A little further away?

"You're doing that on purpose," she mutters, squirming against him.

He chuckles, but his hand stops stroking and pulls her in closer, coming to rest on her hip. "I'm glad we did this," he says after a moment.

"What?"

"Decided to travel. I never even imagined there'd be a place like this."

Neither had she. When she closes her eyes, she can still see the scorched and wasted lands they had left behind. She opens them again.

"Do you think it's starting to look like this back up north, now, too?" he asks. "Or do you think it's just here?"

"I have no idea."

Silence for a time, save for the lapping of the water, the rustling of the grass. The twins' footsteps. But of course, as was inevitable: "I've been thinking."

"Hmm?"

"If the plants can come back, then why can't the animals?"

Something seems wrong about that, but she can't think of what. What was it the twins had showed them?

"Think about it. The plants came back from seeds, right? They were here all the time, under the ground, just waiting for when the conditions were right. So why couldn't the animals do that?"

"But animals don't come from seeds," she says. Even she knows that.

"Ah," says Nine, as if he had expected this response. "But they do. At least, some of them do. Not seeds, exactly. But similar things, called eggs. At that last place we stayed, with all those books, I read about them. Some animals would grow inside them, like plants would inside the seeds. Then the outer shells break open, and they – "

"I know what they are," she says, glancing over at her helmet a short distance away. She leaves out the fact that she had forgotten all about them until a moment ago.

"So then you know what I'm talking about."

"Not really, no."

"Eggs," he says. "Maybe some of them survived the poison, like the seeds. Maybe there are some animals that survived, just a few of them here and there, and we just haven't seen any of them yet."

Again, something seems wrong with his theory. "I don't know. Do you really think it would work that way?"

"I have no idea," he says. "But it's an interesting thought, isn't it?"

Personally, she can think of way more interesting things. When he starts to say something else, she places her fingers on his mouth. He smiles. And when his hand starts up again, she doesn't feel the need to call attention to it.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one and a half_

He is nowhere to be found, either in the house, or in the surrounding foothills. She doesn't worry, even when the sun sinks below the horizon. This isn't the first time the day has gotten away from him. Besides, he's smart. He's resourceful. He can take care of himself. And he wouldn't even think of going near the base of the mountain.

He'll be fine. He'll be back soon.

So, since she isn't worried, she occupies herself with building a fire. Pulling her staff into her lap, she sits and stares at the flames, tiny in the vast stone hearth; after a while, the twins come and sit beside her, leaning their heads against her shoulders.

When the fire goes out, they set off to look for him.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty_

The place is perfect. Better than perfect. In the green foothills, in the shadows of the surrounding mountains, the speckled stone house is untouched by fire, explosion or flood. A little weather-beaten, yes, but clean and dry inside, and better yet, well-supplied, with large stocks of tools and equipment. Shelves of books line the walls in almost every room, most of them in the new language which she herself doesn't understand, but which the others have been learning. There is even a large, thick-wheeled vehicle, housed in its own separate space.

"I'll bet the engine still works," Nine says, turning to her. "With that stream outside, and all these supplies in here... I bet we could build a generator."

"_You_ can build a generator," she says, gesturing to him and the twins. "You know I'm no good with things like that."

"That's okay," he grins. "We'll need _someone _to do the heavy lifting..."

Seven chases him for several turns around the front wheel of the vehicle, and then accepts his shouted apology by knocking him over in a flying tackle. They land, shrieking with laughter, in a tangle of arms and legs. From the corner of her eye, she sees the twins have taken this as their cue to make themselves scarce. It wasn't what she had intended, but why waste an opportunity when it presents itself? Still chuckling, she straddles him, flattening her palms against his chest.

"Looks like you've got me," he says, his smile fading. He brushes a thumb against her cheek. "Will you do something for me?"

"Only if you ask nicely." Or even if he doesn't. Toying with the pull of his zipper, she leans in to kiss him, but he stops her at the last moment.

"Not that. Will you promise me something?"

This won't do at all. He's been in and out of this pensive mood all day. Time to put it to rest for good.

She succeeds for a while in keeping his mouth occupied – and the rest of him distracted in a number of ways, each more delightful than the last – until there comes a point where she is too far gone to concentrate on her task. When she is flat on her back, opened up, gasping at his first electric touch, he says it again: "Promise me."

He says other things, too. Whispers to her, as he sometimes does. She has no idea how he can even think to speak at times like this; she can barely even register his words. Instead, she throws her head back and moves under him, presses against him, determined to let her actions speak louder.

They do.

Later, she lays her head on his chest and hears those words again, as if he is still speaking them. And wonders why.

Why would he want her to promise such a thing? What would it even mean? What else would she be planning to do? It's not as if she has a whole lot of options –

Except, it never seems to feel that way, does it? Even though it should. Even though it isn't really a choice, it somehow is.

"Do you know what today is?" he asks, breaking into her thoughts.

She doesn't, and doesn't even know what the question is referring to.

His chest rises and falls underneath her, humming with the vibration of his voice. "It's twenty years. To the day. Since... since it's been just the four of us."

She picks her head up. "How do you know that?"

"I've been keeping track."

She opens her mouth to ask how, but then decides she doesn't want to know, and puts her head back down. Twenty years. Well. That explained his mood, somewhat.

"So what do you think?" he says after a moment.

"I don't know," she shrugs against him. "I wouldn't have thought it was that long, but I guess it's about right."

"Not about that. About what I said before."

"What did you say before?"

He huffs in annoyance. "Never mind."

"No, really. What?"

"Forget it."

Now she's the one who's annoyed. "What are you – "

"If you don't want to promise, you don't have to."

Oh. That. She frowns. "Well, you didn't exactly give me a chance to think about it."

"All right. So think about it."

"Did _you_ even think about it?"

"There's nothing to think about," he says. "Not for me."

"But – why now? Why after all this time?"

"I don't know. Why not now?"

It's as good a point as any. She isn't sure why she hesitates. It's all so meaningless, so silly. But then, she tells herself, if it really is silly and meaningless, then what harm could it do? If it's just something she's going to do anyway – and she _is_ going to do it anyway – then why not? "All right," she says. "I promise."

His breath catches. He pulls her tightly against him. "Then I promise, too."

He already did, of course, a short while ago. But she doesn't feel the need to point this out.

"I like this place," he says after a moment. "I think I might like staying here. How about you?"

"I think so, too," she smiles, and finds, to her surprise, that she means it.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one and a half_

She already knows where he is. She already knows exactly where to look. But she doesn't look there.

Instead, they search the foothills under the half-moon, weaving through clover and grass. In the stands of trees, they sift through fallen leaves. If there are tracks, she cannot find them. All the while, she calls for him. The twins flash their lights. There is no answer. They search until morning, then return to the house, on the off chance that he has returned.

He hasn't.

Back out again, and this time, they make straight for the base of the mountain.

Maybe she is wrong. Maybe he's only off exploring in the distant woods. There are plenty of them more than a day's walk from here. Maybe he just hasn't realized how much time has passed.

In the daylight, she sees the tracks. A day old. Sees where they lead.

She already knows what she will find, when she follows them.

The twins refuse to stay behind in the shelter of the trees. She doesn't want them to see. Doesn't want to expose them to the same danger. She pleads with them, but they do not relent. They match her brisk pace, quick and alert, seeming more attuned to their surroundings than even she is.

And so, they see what she sees, the moment she sees it.

In the end, it's a good thing that they are with her. They are the ones who get the idea to dig him out from under it, the ones to fetch the tools they need to break into the hard ground. It takes a long time, but eventually they pull him free and carry him to the stand of nearby trees.

On the ground, face up, his eyes are open. The glass of the left is broken. His mouth is slack.

"Nine," she says. "Nine." There is no answer.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one_

He isn't looking at the stars. For one thing, it's daytime.

Up on the high table pushed against the window, she approaches him. He is staring through the brass telescope on its short tripod, transfixed. When she places a hand on his shoulder, he jumps.

"You scared me," he says, turning around.

"I can see that. What are you looking at?"

His eyes shift a bit. "What do you mean?"

"It's a simple question. What are you looking at?"

"Outside."

"Outside," she repeats. "Can I see?" Without waiting for an answer, she nudges Nine aside and peers through the clear lens. Since she already knows what she will find, it takes only a moment for her eyes to adjust, to recognize the magnified image for what it is. One of the many hollows in the cliff, partially illuminated inside by the bright, strong sun. The angle isn't the best for viewing, but she can just make out the top of a mound of twigs.

"I'm just looking," he says behind her.

She turns to him. "You've never _just looked _at anything in your entire life."

He clearly doesn't know what to say to this.

"You're not going back there."

"I never said I – "

"You're not going," she says again.

He stares at her.

"You can't keep doing this. Maybe there's something to this theory of yours, and maybe there isn't. But it isn't worth it any more. You have to let it go."

"This from you? How many times have you almost been – " He shakes his head. "Anyway, that last time was years ago."

"Only because you haven't seen any since then."

"Which is why I need to – " he breaks off, realizing his mistake, but doesn't look away. He lifts his chin. "If it was you who wanted to go there, you wouldn't let me stop you."

"That's because if _I _was going there, I'd have an actual good reason."

"This is a good reason. If you're so worried about it, come with me."

"You're missing the point. Whenever you see one of those things – whenever you even _think_ you see one of those things – you completely lose your head. Not one of those situations would have been dangerous if you'd been paying attention to your surroundings. And now you want to climb _that_?" She points at the window, toward the view of the sheer cliff face.

"We might not have to climb. Maybe there's a way of getting it down. Or maybe we can get the telescope up into the treetops, so we can at least get a better look."

"You're serious about this."

"Well, I've got to do something – "

"Why?" she bursts out, startling him. "What does it matter? Either they're back, or they're not. What's the difference?"

"How can you say that? Don't you want to know if we're alone here on this earth?"

"There might have been a time when I did. But that time is over. It's just not worth it any more. It's been over twenty years, now – you said it yourself. And nothing has shown itself. Nothing has bothered us, or threatened us, in all that time. The only dangers left are the ones we bring on ourselves. And I'm fine with that," she says, bringing a hand up as he opens his mouth. "For the most part. I'm not looking to hide away from the world. But some things just aren't worth it."

"And you get to decide," he says quietly. "You get to decide what's worth it."

"Stop that. I know what you're trying to do." She points to the telescope. "Promise me. Promise me you'll stop this."

"But – "

"You asked me to promise something," she says. "And I did. And now I'm asking you."

Nine gives her a hard, resentful look for a moment. And finally sighs. "If I do," he says, "then what will you promise me?"

"I promise I'll trust you to keep it."

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one and a half_

The sun rises and sets. Rises and sets. How many times, she does not know. What she does know is that she will not take her arms from him, her hands from him. Her head from where it rests on his zipped-up front. Her eyes open and close: to brown, to black, to the speckled grey still visible between the tree trunks. Her hands hold to him, and she does not look at his face. Beneath her, the caved-in chest is still and quiet.

Every now and then, the twins approach. Take hold of her arms. Appeal to her. She ignores them.

All is quiet. She holds to him.

And the sun rises and sets.

How much time passes, she does not know. But eventually, when the twins yet again approach and kneel beside her, she looks up at them, finally feeling a twinge of shame. She rises, with an effort, up onto her own knees.

"I'm sorry," she says to them. They shake their heads and, as one, embrace her tightly.

Now, with an arm around each of them, she finally makes herself look again. The broken body has not moved. The blank expression has not changed. And she knows, with utmost certainty, that it is different than it had been with the others. No glowing green would be coming back to greet her. No peaceful smile, no last look – no farewell.

In a way, she's almost grateful.

"We'll need cloth," she says. "And supplies. Can you...?" The twins pull back and look at her, then at each other. Their eyes lock briefly, flashing in their private language. She doesn't have to understand it to know what they are saying. "Both of you can go. I'll be all right here." They hesitate for a moment, then take off.

Her weapon, its dark blade gleaming along its sharpened edge, is on the ground next to her. The twins must have brought it over. Looking at it, she tries not to think about how it could still salvage this situation. About how it might still be of some use.

She doesn't lie back down.

**·**

**·**

_One_

They chase each other through the maze of unexplored ruins, catching and releasing and catching again, stealing into corner after shadowy corner. Hands grasp. Arms enclose. Mouths seek out, and find. And each time one thinks that this must now be it, that the other must finally, _finally _give in – that other breaks off and runs, and the chase begins again.

But any chase – no matter how willing its participants – still must end, in one of two ways: in capture, or in escape. And neither has any intention of escaping.

It is she who ends it. She who pulls him to the ground, who sits on him astride, who looks down into his rapt face and says, _no more_. No more fear. No more hesitation. No more games.

They tremble for a long time afterward. Holding each other, clutching each other, they tremble – and all she can think, as he rolls her underneath him and lays his mouth so tenderly to hers, is that she is glad she has never known, until now, what she's been missing.

**·**

**·**

_Twenty-one and a half_

She digs into the earth alone, as the twins watch. They had wanted to help, but she refuses to let them. This is the last thing she can do – the only thing she can do – and it is for her to do alone.

It is a selfish thought, to wish that it was she who had gone first. And so she tries not to wish it. Tries to be glad that, though she failed to keep him from harm, she succeeded in keeping him from this.

What about the twins? What if, when their time comes, one of _them_ goes before the other? Could that other one do it? Could that other one go on? Or would they lie down, too? She hopes they never have to find out. Because she has no doubt that – if the past is any indicator – she will be around to witness it.

In the end, she needs the twins to help her lift him. Her arms ache, but not from the burden. And if the earth felt heavy when she turned it out, it now seems to weigh ten times as much as she turns it back in.

Her hands work, tying together a marker. She remembers his hands working, in daylight, in firelight. Remembers his hands.

Driving the marker into the ground, she sets it alight and watches it burn, until the last breath of glowing red fades from the ashes. She cannot feel him. She had felt the others, after the last burning, after the first rains had come. But she cannot feel him.

"I'm sorry," she says, before she turns to leave. Two promises to her broken, and now she herself must break one. She cannot stay. She cannot lie down, not yet. Taking the hands of the twins, she walks with them, back down the slope. Back to home. Or at least what had been, for the past eighteen months. She wonders what he would have said, if he'd known that she had started keeping track.


End file.
